


Keep my love for me when you go

by Notasmuch



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notasmuch/pseuds/Notasmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Natasha is dangerous and beautiful and lives on another continent. Molly works in a morgue and has a type. Cold and intelligent and not loving her back."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep my love for me when you go

**Author's Note:**

> A warning for some very mild talk of death and corpses, because of both of their jobs. (Pillow talk. :) )  
> Spoilers for Sherlock BBC, I think none for Avengers.  
> Sadly unbetaed.

Molly knows Natasha is there before she even steps into the apartment. The lights aren't on but she can feel it. Maybe she's picking something up from Sherlock without even realizing it.

"Hi. How was your day?" she hears the moment she's through the door. Her heart starts beating faster but she's determined to be cool this time. She takes her shoes off and turns the light on to see Natasha, who is leaning on her table with a wine glass in her hand and, of course, no need for light.

She can't help the stupid grin that spreads over her face and the only comfort is that Natasha is smiling back, though not nearly as ridiculously.

"Hi," Molly finally gets out, "it was good. You know. It's a morgue so..." she bites her tongue and looks away to make herself stop. Morgue jokes are bad, she knows that.

"So not as good for everyone?" Natasha finishes and sets her glass on the table. And she always does that, always makes Molly's horrible humour sound okay. Molly is never sure if it's real or just a kindness. 

Before she can say anything else, Natasha comes closer, close enough to touch. Her smell is familiar, shampoo and leather and almost never perfume. Her hands are too sure on Molly's neck as she tilts her head up for a kiss. Molly sighs and melts into it because there's nothing else she wants to do. The kiss is slow but a little rough, as it always is, because Natasha kisses with her teeth and doesn't really know how to ask. But her hands slide down to Molly's shoulders and lower down her back, pressing and circling until the knots Molly didn't even know she was carrying under her skin start untangling.

Natasha breaks the kiss, looks at her with too much attention. "You're tense."

"Well, you've been away for long," Molly jokes, then flinches because it's true but she shouldn't, she has no right. But Natasha just kisses the side of her neck and whispers, "Sorry," into her ear, making her knees buckle.

It's Natasha who starts unbuttoning her shirt, still kissing her but her fingers quick and efficient until Molly is standing there with her shirt unbuttoned and bra just visible. Natasha smiles. Molly knows she enjoys the almost-nudity of it. They take her jeans off right there, beside the door, and neither of them look down when Molly steps out of them.

Molly's head is still full of work. She needs a shower, maybe a good long bath but definitely a shower to wash the day away. But she knows how much Natasha enjoys looking at her like this, even if she doesn't understand anything else about their relationship, so she stands, awkwardly, letting herself be watched.

"You are beautiful." Natasha says and Molly smiles, quick and happy because it's said honestly and a little bit breathless. Natasha grabs her nape and kisses her again for a moment, deep and possessive, like only she does and then lets her go. "Go do what you have to do, I'll wait."

Molly nods and has to lick her lips before she can talk. "There's food in the fridge, I ate already, and wine, and tea." 

Natasha nods, like she already knows, which she probably does, she could have been in the apartment for hours. Technically, Molly never gave her the key, Natasha just always let herself in, somehow. 

"I ate." Molly repeats, just to fill the silence, and goes to her room, aware that Natasha is watching her every move.

The water is hot, just how she likes it, and she lets go of everything under the stream, like she does every day, telling herself it's over. She loves her job, carries with her all the things she learns from it always, but some days are harder than others, some deaths are less natural than others, and she doesn't want to take those memories with her to her living room, to her bed, to her dreams. So she washes them away, puts them on a shelf until tomorrow, and focuses on now, on Natasha, on the pleasure that she gets to feel again. 

She's never sure, when Natasha leaves, if she'll be back again, even if she says she will. This thing they have doesn't have a name, isn't bound by promises. Just because Molly hasn't looked at anyone else since it started, doesn't mean Natasha hasn't either. Natasha is dangerous and beautiful and lives on another continent. Molly works in a morgue and has a type. Cold and intelligent and not loving her back.

She stands in front of the mirror, after she wipes the fog from it, and tries to be objective. She doesn't hate her body, she just wishes she were less mousy and more luscious. Bigger lips, better hair, some breasts to speak of, maybe a few more centimetres, not too much. It's not bad though, overall. She's no Black Widow though. She dries her hair and wraps a large towel around herself.

Natasha is sitting on the bed when Molly comes to her room, barefoot but otherwise fully dressed in what Molly likes to call her "casual too tight black" and leafing through a book that seems to be making her unhappy. She looks up when she hears Molly and her frown changes into a smile that is first sweet and then filthy. Molly is always torn when Natasha lets her see all these feelings that have nothing to do with sex. She knows Black Widow isn't exactly the same as Natasha, but it still _is_ her and Internet assures her Black Widow is a master at controlling and faking her emotions. And there was a time when Molly thought no one had a reason to manipulate her, but “Jim from IT” destroyed that illusion thoroughly. 

She doesn't dwell on Natasha's motives constantly, she knows Jim and Natasha are very different people, she just sometimes wonders. 

Then Natasha puts the book away and walks over to her to caress the skin just above the towel and Molly's doubts get pushed back under the warm hand on her skin. 

"I like this look on you,” Natasha says, “you should wear towels more often."

Molly laughs. "My boss would love that."

Natasha mock pouts at that. "You're right, worst idea ever, no one else should get to see you like this." She kisses the spot her fingers were just touching and Molly's heart skips at the combination of those words, the kiss and the smell of Natasha's hair. It's a deadly combination, she decides, and laughs at both of them this time.

Natasha pulls her towards the bed, still wrapped in the towel and lays her down before she starts unwrapping her, slowly. It's embarrassing, ridiculous, how Molly falls apart under those hands and lips every time. Sometimes she tries to be quiet and still but when she does, Natasha notices and seems to think it's a challenge. It's not. Molly knows how easy she is for her, how little it would take for Natasha to have it all.

\--

"So," Natasha says when they are curled up together, still sweaty but too lazy to move, "what have you been up to?"

Molly giggles. She's almost ashamed, after sex like that, that this is always her favourite part of the night. "Mostly work." 

And then, because she doesn't know how to communicate like a normal human being, she says, "We got this really interesting body in last week. It had been submerged in paint for over a week. Forensically, it wasn't unusual but visually it was very interesting." Molly has no idea why she thought the "interesting corpse" was appropriate pillow talk so she stops talking.

Natasha smiles. "Reminds me of the time Clint shot this guy who was holding a bottle of something and his arrow went through the bottle first so when the guy was supposed to start bleeding it leaked green everywhere. Clint almost snapped his neck doing a double take, then asked people to take a photo of it."

And so it goes, morbid and terrifyingly un-awkward. Ever since they first met Molly kept expecting Natasha to mock her humour or cringe and flinch at the things Molly says or does, but she takes it all with a smile and a story of her own. Molly doesn't understand it, she's not sure where the line is or what will happen when she crosses it. If she loses Natasha because of her own stupidity... Well, she'll move on, won't be the first time. But she would rather not. She would rather keep this, the hugs and hungry kisses and shared laughter, all.

They fall asleep talking, somewhere half way into someone's sentence and the last thing Molly does is move closer and smile.

\--

Natasha is still there when Molly wakes up. She's sleeping on her front, facing the door, and Molly is clinging to her in every way possible - arm over her waist, leg over both of Natasha's and face pressed into her shoulder. It's not very dignifying. But the second she tries to move away Natasha goes stiff under her, awake and alert. When Natasha turns her head to look at her, Molly can't really meet her eyes.

It took Natasha months to even consider staying over for the night, and the first few times she did it Molly would wake up to realize Natasha had spent the whole night awake, just lying there. They never really talked about it, but the mass of scars all over the body led Molly to her own conclusions. She catalogued them all, the first time Natasha managed to fall asleep. In a notebook, with objective, almost medical phrases, like she would record in the morgue. 

_The body has multiple bruising around the abdomen in the shape of a boot print, large._

_Knife wound, at least 5 years old, badly healed, no stitches._

A small part of Molly, the one she calls her Sherlock side, wants to open Natasha up, see what more she can find out, how many broken bones, torn muscles, bullet fragments she can find in there, what history she can learn from it that Natasha will never offer otherwise. She ignores that part of herself, but keeps the notebook and adds new things to it every time they met.

Now she stares at the new cut on Natasha's shoulder, not a knife, something thicker, heavier, round. Molly thinks maybe a hook, but it's hard to logically explain. Natasha shifts, still wrapped up in Molly, seemingly comfortable to stay there. The only thing that changes is that now Molly is looking directly at her breasts. She knows she's blushing.

A small chuckle comes from Natasha, her breasts bounce a little and Molly groans, annoyed and amused at herself. She can, so she leans in and licks at Natasha's pink nipple, loving how softly it slides over her tongue. Natasha sighs and cups her face, tilts it up for a kiss.

They spend half the morning there, kissing and touching, Molly growing a slight obsession with Natasha's nipples, the way they react to different sensations and how hard they get when she's most gentle with them.

They shower, not together, and instead of getting dressed Natasha makes breakfast and insists they eat naked in bed, even though Molly can't stop touching her and nutritious breakfast is important. Which is what Molly is talking about when Natasha starts licking her fingers clean and Molly talks faster until she runs out of breath and stops with a simple, “Oh.”

Natasha laughs and leans in to kiss her. It's slow and unusually soft and Molly loves it even if she knows what it means. There's still a smile on Natasha's face when she breaks away, but Molly wants to think it's a bit sad too.

"I have to go," Natasha says, and Molly nods, because what else is there to do.

She pulls a robe around herself, knowing she'll just fall right back into bed when she's alone, and stands by the door, trying not to look too obviously strange as she watches Natasha get dressed. 

When she's done, Natasha turns towards her and frowns. Molly shakes her head fondly, reading her mind. "I'm not taking the robe off, what will the neighbours think when I open the door."

"That they won the lottery?"

Molly laughs but lets Natasha open her robe a bit, slide a hand over her hip.

She's not sure what it is about that particular moment. It's no more intimate or less sexual than many others they shared the night before or any other time Natasha was over. The look on her lover's face is just as detached as it always gets when she's about to leave. But they are just standing there, Natasha's eyes roaming over her body slowly, like she's trying to memorize it all and going up to her face and Molly half whispers half chokes on the word. "Stay."

She sees Natasha's mask break with surprise and if nothing else, that part will be memorable. She doesn't really understand why she's not panicking. Maybe because she already knows the answer.

"I can't," Natasha says.

Molly nods because yes, she knew.

Natasha's fingers touch her hair, somewhere near her shoulder, randomly. "I have something I need to do."

It's awkward and there's a brief stretch of silence that reminds Molly that she needs Natasha to _want_ to come back and trying to cling to her now won't make that happen and there it is, the panic she thought she was going to avoid. 

She's scrambling to find words that will convey how utterly fine she is with Natasha coming and going whenever she wants to, nothing to worry about, keep calm and carry on, when Natasha speaks up again, closing Molly's robe tight at the same time, tying the string into a bow and staring at it intently, like it's really important she does it right. 

"But, next time, I'll stay longer, I'd like to."

The abstract _next time_ Molly's never sure about. For once she's happy to hear it still exists. Even if it doesn't happen, it's a possibility. Possibilities are good. She manages a smile with her nod this time. Why not.

Natasha kisses her goodbye, like always, and Molly leans into her like she needs it to live, like always, but then Natasha breaks the kiss and says it again, "I'll stay next time" like she means it, like a promise.

Molly doesn't really believe it, not in the sense that she hopes for it, but it's memory of those words that helps her not show her surprise when she comes home two days later to find Natasha standing in her hallway, looking almost unsure, as unsure as she gets, Molly thinks, with a packed bag beside her feet.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the rights to any of the characters here, I'm just playing in the sandbox. 
> 
> Title is by Gin Wigmore.


End file.
